


Action Reaction

by FaziO



Category: Grey's Anatomy, Japril - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 15:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6860722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaziO/pseuds/FaziO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The loss of their baby had imploded their marriage but the unexpected and secretive result of an attempt at therapy had not derailed their divorce. So what now? Divorce Remorse? or Apart but Together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Divorce Remorse?

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Post 12.11 and based on the Japril Sneak Peak of 12.12. Not what I predict happening at all, but an angsty/amusing head canon that popped up based on the Promo. Take a break, Japril fandom, from the blame game and let’s simply take pleasure in the possibilities. Enjoy ;-)  
> Disclaimer: Jackson and April belong to Shonda Rhimes and ABC’s Grey’s Anatomy but Japril belongs to the fandom and will re-emerge like a rising phoenix from the ashes of Divorce.

“Hey, you got a minute?” he asked, metaphorically holding thumbs for neither a theatrical shouting match nor a cold shoulder.

“Hi. Yeah, what’s up?” she replied in so tranquil a manner that for a second he was at a loss for words. Crossing fingers and holding thumbs, whether physically or mentally, obviously worked.

“Umhm…listen I just got our last joint cellphone bill and I’m pretty sure they still charged your card, so I just want to write you a cheque.” Hiding his astonishment, he swiftly responded to her answering his question with a question, clearly aware that he’d not asked after her welfare and that she had similarly reciprocated with a neutrality of her own, perhaps taking her cue from him. Continuing in the same vein he quickly got down to the semantics of reducing the personal nature of their interaction to strictly come business.

“It’s fine.” Again with the dulcet tones, cool and calm and even accompanied by a flash of dimples.

“No, no, no, you shouldn’t have to…” he interjected, intent on doing right by her. He was trying to speedily conclude this face to face so as to get this initial contact over and done with. So they could move on to the next phase of returning to whatever they were…before. And yeah, he realized that he was being naively optimistic.

“No, seriously Jackson, it’s fine,” she insisted, surprising him yet again. She was thrifty to his spendthrift, but he had to concede the difference was purely one of degree.

“If you’re sure?” Predictably, he didn’t push the issue. His default mechanism of head in the sand ignorance to avoid uncomfortable self-analysis had him itching to stretch his legs in an attempt at escape.

“This one’s on me.” She was a contradiction, generous by nature but selfish in her desire to curb wastage. So yet again he was startled by this unprecedented pleasant monetary exchange.

“Okay.” And he was off – Prison,or rather Marriage, Break! From where he stood both looked the same.

Jackson never imagined that the first conversation he had with his soon to be ex-wife, just after they signed papers dissolving their “holy bond of matrimony”, would be so ordinary. Was it a measure of his own chaotic state of mind or had he simply become so thick-skinned and inured to the never-ending loop of argument that he and April indulged in, that even his internal monologue became pure snark?

Cellphone bills, could you get any more pedestrian than that? What confounded him though was the utter peace and calmness that April wore. It was not only a mantle to cover the rocky underbelly of emotions festering below the surface; her countenance reflected a serenity and composure that he knew signified true happiness. And that confused him no end.

The idiomatic expression (or was it a Chinese proverb in English?) of being careful what you wish for was never more appropriate than at this moment. Well, he assumed that a wise Chinese person had probably said it just after receiving what he or she wished for, or perhaps it was just a homily added to make fortune cookies appear prophetic. Maybe even the short bursts of wisdom to be found on the back of sugar sachets. Profound words and a sweet tooth fitted together like hand in glove. For whatever reason it rang very true in his situation.

Divorce was meant to stop these continuous thoughts of her but even something as mundane as the fortune cookies she loved was a constant reminder of her presence. He was quite taken aback at the 360 degree mind reversion the divorce had brought him back to. Back to the past where he would enjoy the memories of her enjoyment of fortune cookies. Those memories had subsequently been supplanted by their last bout with Chinese food and the canon blasting of fortune cookies that had been part one of their physical battle, culminating in the amazing/confusing sex saga that was the second part. While the reminiscences of their food battles were not completely dulled (something about boiled bunnies and burritos too!), the advent of the divorce had him re-rembering their fun, and sexy, times with food. It was a healing of sort, remembering the good times.

Had she finally seen the light of his wisdom, he wondered? That, in his not so humble but honest opinion, divorce was the only viable option left available to them? Non-confrontational of his feelings as he was, both with himself as well as others (to thine own self he was definitely not true!), a small inner voice he was unable to supress, asked why this brought him no joy.

So much for her fighting for them and never giving up! He shook his head at his own vacillations – one moment at peace with his decision, the next inundated with doubts. He recalled the secret smile on her face, the Madonna-like sereneness of her expression. Especially coming from someone so emotionally volatile, his curiosity was piqued. On overdrive, if you will, or more likely, hyper-drive.

He had to find out the cause. At least that’s how he placated himself. Simple curiosity, just like Alice in Wonderland. No other emotions driving this need to know. He was simply in the pursuit of knowledge and understanding and this was a mystery that required his undivided attention. Stealthily, sneakily, and in an underrated, underhanded manner was what was called for. No need to build up unrealistic expectations. Life was what happened while you were busy making other plans.

But why did she have to look so good, _so amazing?!_ That skin, those eyes, that lips, those thighs. Whoa, where did that come from?! He had to admit though, from his quick observance of her form, her breasts were looking _f-i-n-e_. What was with him, he wondered? He was never that horny toad of a guy. Why now was he behaving like a peeping perv, and with his own wife? Ex-wife, he corrected himself. Almost ex-wife, he corrected his correction, recalculating the destination terminology in his head like a satellite GPS recalibrating the path of a journey to one end goal.

They never got to have break-up sex, he recalled. The method of their end was not conducive to that state of affairs at all. In fact, April had appeared almost blindsided by the divorce papers. But she’d been in the same counselling sessions as him, and even with the fighting spirit she possessed she had to have known it was a losing battle and time to surrender to the inevitable remaining conclusion? Didn’t she?

He decided to take matters into his own hands. No, no double entendre intended and no other woman would do. It was time to drop-in at his apartment, ostensibly to collect his remaining everything and while there he could maybe plant the idea of them ending on a high note? A farewell to the institution and a final bang to seal the deal? He immediately changed his mind, he was not _that_ guy and they were not _those_ people! He would drop by though and perhaps if she was receptive, some conversation could shed light onto the mystery of her mindset and how she was able to be so happy and at peace. Perhaps some of that could even rub off on him...

He knew it was wrong but receiving no response to his admittedly quiet hesitancy coupled with soft knocking at the front door, he used his key. Without conscious thought he reached out, almost mechanically, to hang his key on the hook by the door, all the while gazing unseeingly at the candle-lit dining table but otherwise darkened apartment. Two simultaneous events split his focus for a bare second but then caused a red haze to appear over his vision, clouding not only his judgement but also his resultant actions. The first was his key dropping to the floor but before he had time to ponder the missing hook by the door, he heard what sounded like the mewling of a cat in heat. Being that he was a heterosexual, sexually active man who had caused these and similar sounds to resonate from his partner during sex, he immediately knew what it was. This second, much more significant happenstance is what caused him to lose focus, his ability for objective thought and his mind. He acted on pure instinct and fury only later realizing that the first occurrence was actually the harbinger of doom.

“You fucking bastard! Get off her!” he yelled pulling at the huge male body from where he covered the tiny female. Blinded by rage and the poorly lit, murky bedroom he did not even attempt to spare a glance at the co-conspirator in this tableau but went straight on the attack, pummelling the young, brawny, really well-hung black man who was caught mid-coitus interruptus.

“Wh...at? Wait man, what are you doing? STOP! Stop hitting me, you asshole!”

Jackson heard all this as if from a distance, not stopping his movements until an unexpected retaliatory blow, forced him to cease.

“That’s my wife, you bloody bastard!” he responded, still raring to go.

“Wait, what? You’re married?!” the young man turned around to ask his companion.

Not waiting for any response, Jackson used his foe’s divided attention to land another shot, barely hearing the negative retort coming from the periphery of his vision.

“She’s not yet my ex! She’s still my wife!” he screamed in retaliation to her response but addressed to lover-boy. Unsuspecting and unexpected he found himself laid out by the momentum of his unsure footing, aided by a punch from those huge fists.

Dazed, he gazed up from his prone position on the floor and dark though it was, and also with the forceful release of his anger, he gaped unrecognizingly at the young woman hovering above him.

“You’re not April,” he whispered.

Embarrassment didn’t begin to cover even half of what he felt. He apologized profusely to the initially angry newly dating couple, mistakenly assuming that he had walked into the wrong apartment. He was swiftly disabused of his assumptions, which in the light of reason would have had him rethinking the notion. How would his key have worked on someone else’s door? Once calmness prevailed and explanations were tendered, he caught the pitying glances of the young couple, one of whom had been sub-let his and April’s home. He didn’t bother explaining that there was no reason for their sympathetic looks; he was the one that divorced his wife.

The incident did, however, hold up a mirror to his consequential actions.

“For every action there’s an equal and opposite reaction.” Proverb or scientific fact? Either way, true.

Obviously, he was not as okay as he made himself out to be. If that had been April moving on, he had no rights left to stop her, but what was even more of an eye-opener is that he wanted to have the right to her, to still be her one and only. Perhaps it was a bit dog-in-the-mangerish behaviour, as he had expected for _her_ to release _him_ into the wild, which seemingly she’d done with ease. Apparently reciprocal fairness was not in his arsenal anymore and self-contemplatively he wondered if it ever had been.

Walking out of the Apartment Complex, his thoughts were in a jumbled mess. Where was April? Where was she living now? How was he going to explain his shiner at work, to April and his mother? Did he confront her about the sub-letting? Was it worth the explanations and probably the reversion of them to fighting status? How did he explain his regrets and did he in fact want to go there? Did he want her to know why he went to their apartment tonight in the first place or was this the time to let it go, chalk it down to circumstance saving him from making a fool of himself over her once again?

His musings were interrupted by the musical tone of his phone, indicating a call. Anxiously hoping that it was April, he stared disappointingly down at his lawyers name flashing on the screen. Being a doctor meant that it was ingrained in him to always, without fail, answer calls and pagers and while this was not hospital or emergency related he couldn’t ignore the call. He wished he had when he found out what the lawyer had to say. April had couriered an envelope to him, care of his lawyer. In it were five items: her wedding and engagement rings, the keys to their apartment and a clear concise note detailing the sub-letter and finally a key to a storage locker that housed all his stuff – also detailed in the note. Which brought up the question again, where was April, his soon to be ex-wife?

He had contemplated divorce, cutting himself off from the hurt and from all ties to her, the love of his life. He gave up on them, wishing for the divorce to attain a measure of peace. But you know what the fortune cookie said, “Be careful what you wish for, you may just receive it!” And that’s the way the cookie crumbled...


	2. Hanky Spanky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you readers and Japrilites for getting into the spirit of this meant to be OS turned to TS. Part 2 is dedicated to all of you who asked and who reminded me that Japril is a partnership of 2 individuals, both of whose POV deserve to be center stage. Similarly to the first part, the trajectory of this one will continue in the same vein, a bit of lightheartedness to counteract the angst of Canonville. Hope you enjoy. Would love some feedback either way :-) Apologies for the long wait.
> 
> Disclaimer: Sigh…yes Jackson and April are yours Shonda Rhimes.

“Effing Alex Karev! Where does he get off telling me I’m sweaty?!” April mumbled to herself as she entered her new apartment. She banged the door shut, allowing her temper a small outlet while simultaneously removing the clothes she was wearing. In the privacy of her own physical and mind space, she conceded to the reality of clammy perspiration but not Alex’s hypothesis as to that being a glaringly noticeable symptom of her condition. Also, her damn bra was pinching like crazy and extremely uncomfortable and not only because of the added heft. At the culmination of a working day, what woman didn’t want to just throw off that constriction? Moments like these reinforced the correctness of her decision to rent her own place. Free the Nipple was a loud and proud resounding reality in the privacy of her own home.

Unhindered by physical restrictions she allowed her mind to return to her most recent predicament, her dilemma of the day. Did both Alex and his co-conspirator think that pregnancy killed off brain cells?! And that she, being a Medical Doctor herself, would fall for this outrageous and inquisitively intrusive ploy to get her to cave?! Of course he couldn’t tell just by seeing (and apparently smelling!) her and anyway he was so full of crap! How did working with the end result qualify him as an expert on the inception process of said product? Even incubation itself was outside of his realm of specialty. So he couldn’t know, sans the observance of a visible baby bump, that a woman was pregnant! Not even Obstetricians and Gynaecologists, who were way more familiar with reading signs, could accurately predict pregnancy without tests. _Somebody_ had cracked and it was obvious who…she’d only told one other person!

“Compartmentalize!” she instructed out loud, getting into the spirit of the order along with the breathing techniques of labour. Never too early to start practicing, she punted to herself.

“Deep breath in,” she complied and “Breathe out,” she tried, quickly figuring out that verbal coaching did not marry well with performing the exercise itself. The one needed to divorce itself from the other; both did not work well in tandem. At least she could appreciate the humour of her internal musings.

She had hardened her heart to the past, instead living for the moment. She did not allow the negative connotations of the word to permeate her hard won tranquility. It was a game she’d developed; removing the power that certain words had to invoke pain or distress. While some might deride her behaviour as ‘burying her head in the sand’ a Psychologist would correctly diagnose her actions, or lack thereof, as a coping mechanism.

* * *

“Effing Wilson! Really?! When did my life become gossip fodder, huh? And damn you too, Jackass Flirtery, you want nothing left undone, hey?” April fumed. She’d cased out the joint and after an embarrassing encounter (well for Deluca and Pierce, for herself… not so much) of on-call room shenanigans she discovered that the nearest supply closet was private and vent friendly. So she let rip. Not with thunder but with thought. Unprofessionalism aside and rumor mill notwithstanding, she consoled herself that her unintended eavesdropping seemed to indicate that it was a titbit that Jo had shared only with Alex, for the moment at least.

Well tomorrow was another day, she would cross that bridge when she got to it and ain’t no mountain high enough…Yeah, she needed to stop; Hashtag: Clichés Must Fall with one empowerment tune thrown in for good measure. Belting out the Diana Ross song that had burrowed its way into her brain, she realized that the lyrics were actually the antithesis of female liberation. While she’d been fighting for the survival of her marriage, it had seemed thematically appropriate that no mountain was too high for her to scale and no valley too low to traverse. Post-marriage, however, meant that mountain climbing and bungee jumping were not only no longer two-member team sports (literal comparison to the dual partnership and figuratively similar to the activities of ‘The Amazing Race’) but were inappropriate parallels to her altered circumstances. Ah well, she would persevere in the face of insurmountable odds and apply concentration and meaning to that one phrase: “Ain’t no mountain high enough!” Disregarding the other useless clichés, she adopted a paradigm shift in thought. One actionable word, which she fished out of her newly refurbished repertoire … “Compartmentalize!”

Pigeonholing her emotions and humourizing (not a word, she knew, but fundamentally viable) hurtful terminology into palatable witticisms, even if it wasn’t outright and out loud but within her own internal monologue, was, in her opinion, the key to a healthy state of mind. She looked forward to the time when the pretense became her everyday reality. Patience, serenity and the repetitiveness of interjecting wit into her thoughts and actions became her mantra. Time and the absence of judgement (or rather the suppressing of it) was yet another encouraging factor as she was extremely cognizant of the favourable payout. End result being, both the recipient to as well as the purveyor of unconditional love.

* * *

“Effing Arizona and Karev! They’re double teaming me!” she muttered to herself as she swiftly re-entered the hospital from the ambulance bay. Did they think that she was an idiot?! Obviously, her baby’s health was of paramount importance and not something she would delude herself about. Contrary to their perceptions, her mind was crystal clear. She was operating on learned and researched knowledge along with the added benefit of faith. There was no delusion involved, no associated cognitive dissonance.

For all their liberal feminism, it amazed her too how roughshod they rode over the small matter of her personal choice. She’d been a bit harsh with Alex, but she’d learnt over time that snarky rebuttals were the only way to get his attention and validate his respect for her point of view. It also allowed her the platform of a voice. So if comparing them to the “Supreme Court telling a woman what she could or couldn’t do” was insensitive to Alex’s delicate sensibilities, well then, tough she thought. Pandering to his sensitive emotions, and yes well-intentioned concern coupled with inquisitiveness, was not her priority though.

Knowing the high cost of her previous experience and being the person she was, she would not permit ignorance to be the cause of a repetition of circumstance. Her baby would be fine. She had and would continue to research in-utero conditions and where necessary she would conduct tests. But never to the detriment of her child. What her friends failed to consider was that, during this delicate first trimester, genetic testing included a high risk of miscarriage and that was an unnecessary gamble she was not prepared to take. Especially if it was simply for her peace of mind.

* * *

Osteogenesis Imperfecta; the unacknowledged, non-verbalized elephant in the room during her interactions with Arizona. Obviously, the possibility of the existence of this condition, one that had robbed her and Jackson of their firstborn, was worrying but not debilitating. She’d done her research, then and now, and her faith backed by statistical evidence, strengthened her belief in a positive outcome.

Testing for the presence of this genetic mutation was not a game of chance for her. Naturally, both Jackson and herself had been tested when she’d been pregnant with Samuel and, while still in-utero, his condition had been discovered and identified. Although it was obvious that neither of them were symptomatic for type 2 OI, the possibility of either or both of them simply being carriers of the mutated gene had been miniscule and quickly discredited. The cause of Samuel’s Type 2 OI diagnosis was not the result of a dominant or even recessive defect inherited from either parent but simply a random, spontaneous, genetic anomaly. The mutation was so rare that the likelihood of re-occurrence in subsequent pregnancies was the same as for any other pregnant woman without a pre-existing or underlying condition, being within a range of manifestation of between 2 and 4 percent. These were odds that she could live with.

Ideally, a zero percent probability would be preferable. Granted, if this was a Utopian world then her Samuel would be toddling about, happy but clueless about his soon to be big brother status and she and Jackson would be in a blissful state of expectancy, being married to each other and growing their family. This was as far away from perfect circumstances as it was possible to get. As her mother always said (probably not anticipating how much to heart April took this advice and all be it involuntarily, as neither of her pregnancies had been planned), that if you waited for the perfect time to have a baby then you would die childless. She was extremely grateful though that the other bit of homespun hillbilly homily was not within her purview. Although she _was_ a Kepner and built to have babies, unlike her country roots, this baby was not going to fall out of her and neither would she be dropping him/her in a field!

* * *

“Well _that_ was unexpected!” she whispered and almost leapt a foot in the air at receiving a response. The comment _had_ been private and rhetorical.

“What was unexpected?” asked Arizona, creeping up on her.

“Nothing really,” April responded. On the verge of appeasing Arizona’s curiosity and pulling her into her confidence once more she hesitated. Although well meaning, Arizona had proven to be not quite trustworthy. How else would Alex know everything he did? The Pede’s team (could she still call them this now that Arizona’s specialty had switched from children to expectant mother and unborn child?) had yet to convince her that the knowledge of her own pregnancy status had simply been a successful guess on Alex’s part! Either way though, blabbermouth or tight-lipped, she knew that Arizona would be the recipient of this information. It was simply a matter of whether sooner rather than later or vice versa. Before the moment of revelation could be defined, divine intervention in the form of technology beeped and an urgent page to trauma decided the matter.

“We need to talk, April,” Arizona called out to her swiftly disappearing BFF.

“Yeah, I agree, but it will have to be later,” April called out as she headed away from the upstairs lab towards the ER.

* * *

Arriving home that evening, after a long shift and a late admission but severe mind-numbing trauma, she immediately performed her new routine of removing the constrictions from her person. She’d deliberately cleared her mind of any thought (mental high-five for compartmentalizing!); concentrating instead on the young woman they’d attempted to save, instead of the bombshell she’d finally dropped onto Jackson. He’d taken it surprisingly well. She knew though that tough follow-up conversation was imminent, but even she was surprised at the immediacy and location.

Still in her ‘Compartmentalize Bubble’ the unexpected voice and presence, although soft toned and quiet, was the pinprick that burst her metaphorical balloon. The analogy accompanied symptomatic repercussions, so the initial non-recognition of his voice and words seemed to come as if from a distance, like the effervescence escaping a burst inflatable object, conversely and temporarily trapping sound as if it existed in a vacuum.

“Jackson…what…?” she sputtered out, finally recovering her auditory faculties but still slow and confused on verbal. “How…and…how?!” she managed to vocalize, meaning of course, _how_ did he know where she lived and _how_ had he gotten in? The what was equally predictable; _what_ was he doing there? With arms akimbo she pursed her lips and cocked one eyebrow as she pantomimed a waiting pose, knowing that something felt very off (aside from his obvious presence, of course) but unable to successfully put her finger on the pulse of the problem. Also, she was distracted by his roving eyes, which seemed to land everywhere but on her. He didn’t come across as prevaricating; it was simply shifty. From someone who prided himself on his in your face honesty, the lack of eye contact in itself set-off alarm bells. What was he hiding?!

To make matters worse, her body had taken to heart her mind reversion of compartmentalizing and all she could concentrate on in the moment was how attractive he looked. The beginning stages of facial scruff plus head hair had always been aesthetically pleasing as well as a definite tactile delight and appealed to her even more so today. Pheromones or hormones, she wondered? Either way she would not be averse to being a booty call if that was his intention. He would have to make the first move though, then she could be amenable. Was the fact that he was here at all a sign of his interest?

Snapping out of the sexual haze that clouded her vision she retreated to logical thought. Of course, he was here to talk about their impending parenthood, she realized. Although usually stoic in expression, she _could_ read him like a book, especially when his intense gaze was pinned on her. Today, even with his wandering indirect scrutiny of everything around him, his countenance did not suggest divorce remorse to her. In addition, she was being delusional in her assumption that he still wanted her physically. After all she’d heard via the Jo Wilson grapevine about how on their away assist at the Naval Base, Jackson had been the recipient of high intensity focused fawning flattery from a Dr. Fiona Flirty. Not her name, obviously, but the moniker her mind sought, picturing the obsequiousness of what she assumed was Marine Barbie, or excuse her, _Dr_. Marine Barbie. Damn…err Gosh Darn it! (Language! she chastised herself, very unbecoming for little Avery ears and yes despite the divorce her baby would bear the Avery name). When had she attained the epitome of sarcasm, she wondered? When had she become so snide in her own headspace? She greatly feared though that this new meanness was merely a measure of her own loneliness.

While Jackson never liked to concede to the comparison, he was as much of a control freak as she was, maybe even a degree worse. He was a surgeon whose specialty demanded perfection and he encapsulated that meticulousness in all aspects of his life. Information and control were empowerment tools in his arsenal. Now while he ensured that he was never controlled by his own libido (he’d always been faithful to her too) he _was_ a very sexual being, and currently there was nothing holding him back. No marriage certificate, no wedding band and no binding ties. He could give his body free reign to sleep with whoever took his fancy, flirty doctors or not. The jerk.

“So look, Robbins was under the impression that I didn’t know about the baby and while she was spilling the beans to me I kinda just kept quiet about already knowing. It was just after you left, so possibly my non-reaction made her think that she had to break this news to me. Why do you think that is, huh April?” he questioned.

“She’s been here for me Jackson, while I figured out how to tell you. But for the life of me I can’t even comprehend her going behind my back…” she responded, hesitating at the last bit as disappointment flooded her emotions and physically manifested in the drooping of her shoulders. “I guess it’s got to do with the testing, but that’s something...”

“You haven’t had the tests done yet?! Are you freaking kidding me!” she was rudely interrupted and finally became the brunt to and recipient of his direct regard.

Admittedly, not the expression she wanted to see and not the conversation she wanted to have. Effing Avery and Robbins, putting a severe dent in her peace of mind and compartmentalization implementation.

“If you can’t be civil Jackson, then leave! I’m prepared to have a calm, adult conversation with you, but not when you’re like this and not today!” Dissimilar to her words, her emotions emulated her tone and rising pitch. “How in freaking hell did you get in here anyway?!” she all but screamed it to him.

Contrary to their post-Jordan method of conflict resolution that they’d gotten into the habit of employing, this time Jackson’s confrontational attitude seemed to fizzle as her ire rose. Perhaps divorce was the therapy they’d needed all along, she silently but derisively mocked their previous childish one-upmanship. Who knew that they could behave so maturely? Perhaps millions of jaws were dropping at this unprecedented event!

“Robbins…your spare key in case of emergency. Look, you’re right, I’m sorry, and I know I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy like this. It’s just…” he hesitated, seeming as confused by their new dynamic as she was and yet knowing the value of the importance of being earnest. This _was_ unfamiliar territory for _both_ of them but she’d had more time to acclimatize, so she cut him some slack.

“I’m sorry too, Jackson and I don’t mean to exclude you. This baby will have both of us and we’ll figure it all out. Good people raising their baby right, right?” she brazenly sought reassurance by revisiting a past platitude that had brought her solace.

“Wait, is that still a thing?” he laughingly returned, taking his cue from her and lightening the tension.

Unbidden both of them were transported to that moment of Déjà vu, reminded of how that conversation had ended the first time. Reflected in his eyes was a very clear attraction and this was confirmed as the darkening orbs strayed slightly away to land on the curls framing her face. She knew his hands itched to run them through her hair. She was well aware of the fetish he had for her red curly locks. She extended an invitation by biting the corner of her lip and watched his gaze flicker towards the movement. Intent on the seduction routine she watched a reciprocal lip bite followed by the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he gulped. She heard the loud breath he exhaled as his excitement mounted. Surprised, she observed his attempt to control himself as his scrutiny shifted away from her. Hedging, once again. Even knowing that sex between them could get very messy (pun intended! this was a mess she _never_ minded!), she was nevertheless extremely disappointed at the ease with which he managed to resist her.

“Err, April…” he started.

“It’s okay Jackson, I know this would be a very bad idea and you’ve moved on and I don’t want you to be obligated to me or pretend or even pander to my cravings or hormones or…”

“April! Stop okay. It’s not that!” he interrupted gently grasping her upper arms. Following the direction of his gaze and experiencing the smooth coolness of his fingers on the nakedness of her shoulders, the proverbial lightbulb went on.

“Jackson!” she shrieked, “why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Wait, what? Seriously? How do you not know this?” he playfully replied.

She blushed and tried to cover herself but somehow Jackson’s hands had made their way down her arms, his fingers entwined with her own. The reason for his earlier evasive eye movements were an apparent double barrel; her milkshake had brought him to the yard many times before. She couldn’t believe that she’d been standing there topless during their whole interaction! He would not let her cover up though but he did let go of her fingers to cover her up himself.

“I’m not with anyone else and I do want you too. It’s your decision though,” he whispered, all up in her personal space.

“Just sex,” she sighed. “Compartmentalizing,” she groaned. “And it’s not like I can get pregnant!” she laughed.

“What was that about compartments?” he asked

“Nothing,” she swiftly responded, wanting to preserve the moment.

“How about we take this somewhere more comfortable, more conducive to hanky panky?” he murmured as he tried to lift her into his arms.

“Only if it’s hanky spanky,” she said, instead leading him away. “And since I’m pregnant you get to be the spankee!” she grinned at his one lifted eyebrow.

This compartmentalizing theory seemed like a good plan. They would go through the motions and besides she could live with the seconds of pure happiness interspersed with instances of pure terror. Moment to moment.

“As you were soldier,” she purred into his ear, leading him back to the yard.


End file.
